Make A Mother’s Day

Make A Mother’s Day

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There was nothing different about today. I still got bitten, vomited on, and howled at just the same. I got the exact same amount of slobbery kisses, wicked glinty grins, and warm little hands down my cleavage. I cleaned up the exact same amount of shit as yesterday, and I spent the same amount of hours tidying up mess, folding laundry, and soothing with the boob. I barely noticed it was Mothers’ Day.

There’s this romantic notion that Mothers’ Day is all about pampering, spoiling, and honouring mothers for the hard work they do. But when you’re a solo mum with a non-verbal child, it’s a bit of a non-event. During these baby years it’s the partner who buys the chocolates, picks the flowers, and helps the kid to make a card. I guess I could have done those things myself, but it’d have felt a bit weird. My kid is too young to make me a pet rock or pick out something horrible from Crazy Clarke’s. My kid is too young to bring me burnt toast in bed, or a cold cup of tea. My kid can’t even properly say mummy yet, let alone “happy mothers’ day, mum”. It was really lovely, then, to log into facebook today and see the solo parents forum feeds full of mums wishing each other a happy day. And it was even more lovely to meet up with a single mum friend for breakfast who had had the forethought to go out and buy us matching “best mum ever” mugs. Because we are, godammit, but there’s rarely anyone there to tell us. So if you’re reading this, go grab a solo mum and tell her she’s doing a fucking amazing job. I guarantee it’ll make a mother’s day.

 

No Sex Please–We’re Mothers

No Sex Please–We’re Mothers

I watched some porn the other week and the only thing I felt was a certain melancholic nostalgia. “Never again will I have sex with anyone that young and carefree,” I thought, as I watched a spunky tattooist fist a baby-faced butch on some kind of medical reclining chair. “I hope that’s strong enough to support them both,” I worried, as I ate another chocolate biscuit. The reason people supposedly like porn is because they like to superimpose themselves into these scenes. Problem is, I just can’t see myself in that sort of scenario anymore. What would I be doing in a tattoo parlour with a toddler anyway?! They’d be pulling all the needles off the shelf and trying to drink the rubbing alcohol. And even if I managed to get the tattooist out of her parlour and into my lounge room, the baby would be so excited to have a visitor that they’d refuse to go to bed, and then they’d probably wake up ten minutes into the fisting scene and I’d have to go and resettle them, twice, by which point the lube would have dried up.

The other reason it’s just not going to happen is that I have ZERO sex drive. Still. It’s been almost a year and a half now. This is by far the longest I have ever gone without an orgasm. I didn’t have a vaginal birth, but sex is still the last thing I feel like. This is one of the moments when I am SO glad I’m single. Any partner of mine would have left me for a good vibrator long ago. Or else I’d have stabbed them to death for suggesting that we partake in such a vulgar act. But even stranger than this lack of sex drive is a lack of caring. It’s incredibly liberating to not feel horny. There’s nothing else clouding my head or leaving me feeling lacking. There’s no longing for something I don’t have, no time wasted on crushes, no agonising, drawn-out heartache when things go bad. My emotional landscape is stable, and it’s making me very very happy. And content. I have never ever felt content before. For the first time in my life I am the master of my own emotions (other than when my child decides to hold the reins and deprive me of a good night’s sleep).

Along with this new appreciation for celibacy has come a weird revulsion for sex. It just seems so base these days. I’m like one of the vampires in True Blood, watching humans eat food in disgust. How primitive. Common. Below me. I feel nothing in my knickers when a hot butch walks past me on the street. I even briefly wondered if I’d somehow turned straight! Sex scenes bore me. Yuk. As if you’d want to touch someone else’s body if you didn’t have to. As IF.

Maybe it’s because I’m all touched out from my baby. We co-sleep, and they generally have my boob in their mouth for the majority of the night. In the day they are constantly touching me, wanting to be held, clinging to my leg. I also haven’t got my period yet, so maybe it’s hormonal, and at the first sight of blood it’ll come back with a vampiric vengeance. Or maybe I’ve just transcended and am now above the fleshy and primitive desires of the body. If only I believed in a god…

Holly’s Guide to Lazy Parenting

Holly’s Guide to Lazy Parenting

I like to do things the easy way, with the least amount of effort and/or stress. This applies to cleaning, studying, exercise, and yep, also to raising my child. Apparently I am doing something called attachment parenting. Many cultures just call it parenting, but hey, everything needs a brand in a capitalist world. Read more

How To Visit New Parents

How To Visit New Parents

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It is virtually impossible to do anything other than hold your baby for the first six weeks. Especially if you are breastfeeding/chestfeeding. And double especially if you are a solo parent. I was lucky and my amazing incredible beautiful friends all gave me gold star support in those hellish early days, but not everyone I know has had the same luck. If you are visiting someone who is a new parent, here’s some tips: Read more

“Who’s Missing From The Dance Floor?” The response to Orlando, and queer femme parents

“Who’s Missing From The Dance Floor?” The response to Orlando, and queer femme parents

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I’ve been thinking a lot about gay bars. About my first gay bar. About how my friend Jo took me there, and how it was before I’d realised that I was queer, and how the daring of it made my chest expand and feel tight all at the same time as I stood on the edge of the beginning of the real me. Read more